


Save the flowers

by babydragon7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24898513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydragon7/pseuds/babydragon7
Summary: “I’m not sleeping with you again. You’re too… cuddly”.“You say it, like it’s a bad thing”.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 5
Kudos: 162





	Save the flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, just playing. 
> 
> No excuse for that, quarantine made me do it!

“I’m not sleeping with you again. You’re too… cuddly”.

“You say it, like it’s a bad thing”.

The problem was – Ilya’s own bed was irreparable.

“Just because you’ve decided to host an orgy…”

“For the last time – it was not an orgy!”

When they had previously chosen rooms in the apartment for the mission, Ilya – as he often did – took the one closer to the door. Which was why he was the first to be attacked by two armed assassins. By the time Napoleon and Gaby rushed in, Ilya has already threw no good, very bad people on his bed and jumped on top. The move was very effective. However, the bed in the safe house has obviously seen better days if this little commotion could break it, Ilya thought.

Anyway, with two more days to spend on a mission, he had to think of a sleeping arrangement. Gaby had a single bed. So it was Napoleon – not anymore so Solo – and Ilya for the night today and tomorrow. The thing was, Ilya hated to sleep in the same bed with Napoleon. Well, maybe not hated per se. He strongly objected to it. First, he woke up sweaty having put on his longest sleeved pajamas. In addition, he always had Napoleon curling around him in the morning, pressing his face in between Ilya’s shoulder blades, throwing an arm or a leg over Ilya. Couple of times there was a wayward hand just under the hem of Ilya’s pajama top, brushing his skin. The worst thing was that certain part of Ilya’s body always woke up very ‘confused’. Afterwards it was a matter of having to quietly extricate himself and crawl to the bathroom to take care of this confusion. It was very inconvenient. In short, Ilya had tried to avoid sharing a bed with Napoleon if possible.

Still the day was young, the mission almost wrapped up, assassins handled by Ilya and broken bed, so Ilya decided to spend some quality time reading on the couch. Gaby went to the shooting range several hours ago and Napoleon had – annoyingly – stayed behind, puttering around the room and messing with Ilya’s concentration.

“Listen, Peril, what do you think I should do to impress a Russian?”

Ilya replies almost on autopilot. “To impress, I don’t know. But if you do flowers, avoid giving her carnations and flowers in even numbers.”

“Why?”

“Funeral staff. In Russia people bring red carnations to the war memorials and even numbers of flowers to the cemetery. So would not work on a date.”

Then he backtracks.

“Wait a minute. What Russian you want to impress? Where would you even find one?”

Napoleon smirks.

Ilya is not jealous. He is just concerned.

“Did you meet her at the embassy?”

There was a sort of affair at the Soviet embassy couple of weeks ago, that Ilya could not go to because of the conflict of interests as Napoleon had put it. ‘You don’t even like black caviar, so what’s the use of you going?’

Cowboy was dashing that night, well; Ilya means he was very… suitably dressed for the occasion.

Napoleon hums noncommittedly.

“You have to be careful, Cowboy”, Ilya says. “She could be a Russian spy.”

“I wonder. What would it take to impress a Russian spy?”

Ilya grits his teeth in frustration. Now he will have to lay at night with Napoleon cuddling him and smelling good, like seawater, and think of some Russian girl Napoleon wants to take on a date. Thoughts like that should not even cross his mind, Ilya knows as much. It is a taboo; you could get into all sort of troubles for wanting a man. Nevertheless, the body wants and the mind shatters. Appalling, really. He should have more self-control. But he does not and shockingly blurts all of the sudden

“You smell nice.”

Napoleon looks surprised. Delighted. Exhilarated even. Like he finally got a puppy for his birthday, which he had given up on getting.

“Well,” he says. “I honestly thought I’d have to pull your teeth before you say something like this and I’ve got to admit…”

To admit what, he does not get to say. Gaby chooses the exact moment to come back to their shared apartment, entering with a greeting and then looking at them suspiciously. Ilya is not proud to say he uses the chance to flee – resolutely retreat – to his own room with a broken bed. He does not come out for dinner. He does not hide. He just tries to avoid a confrontation. However, closer to eleven at night he crawls to the bathroom. A cold shower will help him sleep, he will make do on the tiny couch in the common area. Ilya gets out of the shower stall, wrapping a towel around himself and blinking water droplets out of his eyes and immediately bumps into Napoleon, who waits for him at the sink.

Before Ilya has a chance to say anything, Napoleon comes closer and stands on his toes to whisper in Ilya’s ear.

“What I meant earlier, Peril, is that I want to impress a very specific Russian. And it’s not a girl.”

It finally clicks.

‘Bendy English language’, Ilya laments.

He is not the one to play games. Therefore, he drops all pretenses and a towel.

“Well in this case you can save the flowers”, Ilya says and crowds Napoleon towards the sink.

XXX

In her room, Gaby grumbles. It is not as if the walls are very thick. She turns on her side and reaches for the earplugs she had wisely brought from the shooting range. ‘Hopefully they won’t crush anything else”, she thinks, ‘one broken bed is bad enough’.


End file.
